I hadn’t been to London in a while, but last weekend saw me making my usual commute from the north of England to the fast-paced hustle and bustle of the capital. After spending a few days catching up with family, I headed back to the train station on Monday at midday.

After experiencing disastrous weekend trips in the past, I’d decided to plan my return journeys on a weekday instead — avoiding the lack of service, maintenance works, signal failures, and inevitable train cancellations that plague the weekends. The day before had been a nightmare; my train had been delayed by thirty minutes, and when I finally got on board, it broke down at Luton. Cue an exasperated crowd of passengers scrambling to find an alternative route to London. I got there in the end, but it was hardly smooth sailing.

So, come Monday, I was feeling more optimistic. Sunday had been a mess, but today? A weekday should mean a more reliable journey, right? Well, I say “looking forward” loosely — I haven’t been the best traveller in recent years. Anxiety and panic attacks rear their ugly heads more often than I’d like, so my excitement was less about the journey itself and more about getting from A to B without a hitch.

I love the London Underground for its frequent trains, but the overcrowding? Not so much. Still, I managed well enough, despite the heat. I distracted myself by shutting my eyes and thinking of my son’s football match and my daughter’s singing audition — anything to keep the nerves at bay.

An Unexpected Distraction

When I finally arrived at the station, I was relieved to be off the Underground, but the adventure wasn’t over yet. Finding the platform for my train back north was another obstacle to challenge.

After taking a few deep breaths and mentally telling myself to pull it together, I found my platform — or at least, one of four possible platforms my train could depart from. The departure board showed my destination, Sheffield, with a scheduled time of 12:02. No platform number yet, which wasn’t surprising — I had arrived an hour early (thanks, anxiety, for always ensuring I’m ridiculously punctual).

As I waited with the growing crowd, my stomach dropped when I saw the dreaded word appear on the board: “Delayed.”

A collective groan spread through the station. People around me began making frantic phone calls to inform friends and family they’d be late. Others muttered their frustrations under their breath.

And then, something else caught my eye. Something that made my anxiety spike higher than the train delay ever could.

Right in front of the barriers leading to the platforms sat an abandoned rucksack.

See It, Say It… Ignore It?

The phrase “See it, say it, sorted” had echoed through the station countless times during my journey. And now, here I was, staring at a bag that might just be something worth “seeing” — yet no one else seemed remotely bothered.

Instinctively, I scanned the station for someone, anyone, reacting to it. But no. People were too engrossed in their phones, the departure board, or their conversations to even acknowledge it.

Then, to my absolute disbelief, some passengers started stepping over the bag as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient piece of lost property.

The station guard? He glanced at it and casually walked around it.

I couldn’t believe it. Was I the only one seeing this? Had everyone collectively decided this abandoned bag was just part of the scenery? Or had I somehow developed some kind of exclusive ability to notice unattended luggage while the rest of the world remained oblivious?

A Moment of Hesitation

I hesitated. Should I report it? Was this my moment to step up and do the right thing?

Then, the intrusive thought crept in — what if there was something inside it? Something dangerous? If there was a ticking device inside, how much time would I have to react?

But then again, what if I walked away, and something did happen?

I wasn’t trying to be a hero. But I also couldn’t ignore it.

Taking Action

I walked up to the station guard and pointed out the bag. He looked put out, as if I’d just interrupted his tea break. Begrudgingly, he shuffled over and examined it properly for the first time.

And then, just as he picked it up, a man — who had previously been staring out the window, seemingly oblivious — suddenly sprang into action. He hurried over, protesting as he grabbed the bag from the guard’s hands, slinging it onto his back as if nothing had happened.

The guard handed it over without a word and wandered off.

I looked around to gauge the reaction of the crowd, but people barely seemed to notice. A few glanced in my direction, but they quickly resumed whatever they were doing — scrolling, chatting, checking the departure board.

And just like that, the moment passed.

A Strange Realisation

My train was still delayed, but I found that my earlier anxiety had, strangely, lessened. The whole incident had distracted me from my usual travel worries.

I wasn’t a hero. There was no dramatic outcome. No explosive twist. Just an abandoned bag that turned out to belong to someone careless.

But it did make me think.

How often do we ignore the little things happening around us? How many times do we become so absorbed in our own worlds — our screens, our schedules, our frustrations — that we miss what’s right in front of us?

In a world that constantly demands our attention, are we failing to notice the things that actually matter?

Maybe I’d overreacted. Or maybe, just maybe, everyone else had underreacted.

Either way, it was a moment that stuck with me.

And as I finally boarded my train home, I couldn’t help but wonder — if it had been something more serious, how many of us would have actually seen it, said it, and sorted?